


wings of hope (shall be our embrace)

by GlassesOfJustice, kimaracretak, LittleRaven



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Missing Scene, Sapphic September 2018, implied/background amilyn/leia, implied/future amilyn/leia/d'acy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 17:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15977417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesOfJustice/pseuds/GlassesOfJustice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/pseuds/LittleRaven
Summary: Holdo and D’Acy sitting in the brig, K-I-S-S-I-N-G





	wings of hope (shall be our embrace)

**Author's Note:**

> This was a live round robin fic written over a few days on the [Star Wars Rares Exchange Discord Server](https://discord.gg/7GtzzJF) all because kimaracretak announced: "important sequel trilogy femslash considerations: harter kalonia/larma d'acy" and this morphed from there.

Holdo and D’Acy were both hastily shoved into an airlocked room for holding. Holdo is still. Except for the wringing of her hands, the fumbling with her bracelets.

 _Click, clack, click, click, clack, clank_.

The rhythmless noise is unsettling every fibre of D’Acy. D’Acy moves toward her taller comrade and grabs Holdo’s hands at first, only to settle her own nerves. Once she is closer, she sees that Holdo is shaking. She’s not sure if it’s with anger or fear or - more likely - a cocktail of both.

“Amilyn...

Amilyn.

 _Amilyn!_ ”

Amilyn turns her head slightly. Just noticing D’Acy is sitting next to her holding her hands.

“Larma, how did I let this happen?”

“I don’t think it could have been helped. When Poe Dam—“

“Not him! I don’t care about that or this. Being here. I’ve just now had time to settle my mind on Leia.”

“Admiral, while you are very accomplished, you couldn’t have done anything to have changed the outcome.” D’Acy scooches a smidge closer and places a hand on Holdo’s back, rubbing small circles, firm enough to root Holdo in the moment.

“I miss her too.” D’Acy starts to continue but thinks better of it knowing the weight of Holdo’s relationship is much heavier than her own relationship to Leia.

"I know you do," Holdo says anyway, as if she'd spoken aloud. Maybe she had. Maybe it didn't matter, when Holdo's glittering blue eyes were gazing straight past D'Acy to somewhere deep in her soul.

"She brought you here, didn't she?" Holdo's restless fingers are picking at the edges of D'Acy's uniform now, an improvement over fiddling with her bracelets, only in that it's quieter. 

D'Acy waits in silence, wondering what the other woman is remembering. What she's seeing, with those faraway eyes of hers. "She's always been good at that. At bringing us where we need to be. And now she's not -"

"She's still here," D'Acy interrupts, before Amilyn can go any further down that path. And she is _Amilyn_ now, just like the pale figure in the infirmary with ice dust in her eyelashes is _Leia_ , not the General. "We're all still here."

Amilyn's back is warm under her hands, her fingers finally coming to stillness around D'Acy's wrist. "We are," she echoes, and there, now, the admiral that D'Acy has seen on so many bridges, through so many years, is starting to come back. "Aren't we?"

They're all still here, with the space between them where Leia isn't.

It's a space neither of them can hope to fill. Unthinkable. 

But knowing that provides its own comfort. They understand. 

"Yes." D'Acy turns her hand, slides to hold the fingers. Warm, too. 

Warm against the cold outside, what waited for them, had nearly taken Leia. Still might.

She squeezes her fingers around Amilyn's.

The silence of their isolated airlock seems to recede slightly, with that anchor. D'Acy knows, better than most, maybe, how easily silence can turn an already anxious mind to fear. She's managed it over the years thinking of weapon designs, first for her father, then for Leia.

She cannot even begin to guess how Amilyn copes. 

Perhaps that's why it's so easy to press her lips to the back of Amilyn's hand, against the only other warm thing, because there have been days when Amilyn was a weapon unto herself.

Perhaps that's the only way to ease the hurt of the space between.

“Thank you.” Amilyn says. 

A few moments later a stoic sob escapes from above D’Acy. At some point Amilyn’s head had come to rest on top of hers and she feels that sob and the following deep breaths down through her neck and shoulders.

Amilyn shifts to face her, eyes slightly damp. With the back of the hand D’Acy doesn’t hold, she wipes her face. Her usually hard blue eyes are softer now, begging for relief. 

“You can cry on me if you want to.” D’Acy offers.

“No, I don’t think I can.” Amilyn offers a half smile.

Amilyn moves to put both hands on D’Acy’s shoulders. Her long fingers squeeze renewed warmth into both of them.

“Thank you for being here. For standing by me. By the resistance. I think it’s what Leia would have wanted.” 

D’Acy manages a nod, and then buries her head into Amilyn’s slender form. They move together, fumbling a little but finding an embrace.

It's that, more than anything, that makes what happens next feel inevitable. Leia's chosen ones, finally together amidst the chaos of war. Finally able to not only feel the weight of the responsibilities on their shoulders but also the relief of knowing those responsibilities are shared.

Amilyn, true to her word, isn't crying. D'Acy knows this, because somewhere within the tangle of fabric and limbs they've become on the durasteel floor, her head has ended up in the crook of Amilyn's neck, her lips pressed against dry skin that still smells faintly of smoke. D'Acy breathes in acrid tang, the remnants of fire that still cling to both of them, and knows, in that moment, that she can't cry either.

But neither of them had said anything about other forms of catharsis.

Amilyn's slender fingers find D'Acy's golden curls, slightly tarnished from the blast, but still soft to the touch. D'Arcy has never loved her hair more than in this moment. How her scalp tugs as a strand tightens around Amilyn's finger and then releases only to start again in a nearby spot. It is the kind of comfort that might put D'Acy to sleep if it wasn't stirring other thoughts in her.

She shifts, just the slightest bit, and presses her lips to Amilyn's neck with intent for the first time. A real kiss, if Amilyn wants it to be.

If it's what she herself wants it to be.

Amilyn's fingers tighten in her hair, and they're so close together that she feels the hitch in Amilyn's breath as if it were her own. This, then, is what it means to ease the cold.

The steel floor beneath them is warm. Glowing with their heat signatures. Radiating out into an invisible safety net for them both.

D’Acy can’t say how long they’ve been wrapping around each other. A serpent around a tree; who is the serpent and who is the tree? It changes moment to moment. 

Lips finding exposed skin, hair, ears. Maybe it’s been fifteen minutes. It feels like an eternity and only a second. Amilyn’s lips are often pursed. In thought, in disapproval. Yet now, on D’Acy’s, they are full and demanding. Pleading to stay here, stay in this limbo, avoiding and dealing with their grief together. The only way they know how.

Through it all Amilyn kisses like they have time, insistent yet giving and entirely unhurried, despite how desperately she's clinging to D'Acy's hands, her hair, her sleeves. It's not enough to make her forget why they're doing this - what poorly concealed horror has been necessary for them to end up here - but it's enough to make her, too, believe in a future that stretches past this neverending moment.

A future, maybe, in which Leia would join them. Such hope should seem selfish in the moment, Amilyn's hands slipping under her uniform jacket - when had it come unfastened? - to cover her breasts, Amilyn's hot mouth mapping secrets across her neck, yet it seems instead the only possible kind of hope.

The kind that doesn't need to be thought of, because it lives in the blood rushing in their veins, warming the skin, skin sweating now with the feeling. Hope can be so base, D'Acy suddenly realizes. And that's what's so good about it. The secret of its survival.

D'Acy leans forward, kisses back, down Amilyn's neck. She puts her hands over Amilyn's where they squeeze her breasts and she presses down, urging.

They have to keep moving. It's what Leia would want.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to add more to this tag or read other great f/f SW Rares, come participate in the [Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange](https://swrarepairs.dreamwidth.org/), nominations open on September 14, 2018!


End file.
